


some pictures linger

by Alethia



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Comment Fic, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Nate POV, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-11
Updated: 2009-08-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should get rid of the picture. That much was clear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some pictures linger

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the fictionalized characters in the HBO miniseries, _Generation Kill_ , as written by Ed Burns and David Simon and as portrayed by Alexander Skarsgard, Stark Sands, and others. It is a work of fiction, ergo it never happened.
> 
> Picture-based comment!fic, originally posted [here](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/536886.html?thread=15849270#t15849270).

A few unused pictures had remained on Nate's disposable camera. It'd been sitting around forever, to the point that it was getting stupid. He needed to take pictures of _something_ , so bringing it into the boys' locker room hadn't seemed like a terrible idea. The guys hadn't cared, hamming it up like the attention whores they were. Only Brad had raised an eyebrow, then promptly disappeared to shower.

Nate was undeterred. He saved the best for last, caught Brad in a towel, wet hair hanging in his eyes. Brad didn't even need to say a word—his expression clearly stated how vastly unimpressed he was. 

Nate merely smirked and tossed off a jaunty salute. 

The pictures became a slightly bigger deal when someone (Tony) had stolen them, made photocopies, and tossed them down the stairwells in an attempt to get some vengeance on behalf of all the colored folk that white boys had exploited over the years. Or something.

The fact that Tony looked like some kind of bronzed god next to the rest of them—and he wanted Angie to notice—that might've had something to do with it, too.

Needless to say, they were the talk of the school soon enough.

Ray regaled anyone who'd listen with arguments of how svelte (his word) physiques were vastly superior to the muscle-bound meatheads of the rest of the team. Nate didn't really follow, though he was duly offended on the meatheads' behalf. 

A shocking number of people _believed_ Ray, nodded along. Many of them girls. Nate would suggest Ray become a politician if he didn't fear Ray might actually do so. He couldn't, in good conscience, inflict that on the world.

The amusement lasted a while...and then Nate heard the grumbling. Again, mostly from girls. They didn't appreciate the lack of self-portraiture. Or of Brad.

Brad just _loved_ that. "I seem to recall you taking a picture of me," Brad said, raising an eyebrow at Nate after he was asked, again, when their pictures would be forthcoming.

Nate smiled his self-deprecating smile and shrugged. "Came out blurry." It was true—technically true—just lacking the tiny detail of _how_ blurry. 

Brad didn't ask, but his eyes called bullshit as the girls made annoyed sounds and melted away. 

Well, whatever. The picture was blurry—God's honest truth—so Nate had set it aside. 

He looked at it sometimes. Not in a creepy way or anything, just...considering. There was something about it. Something purely Brad, a kind of age-old quality there. Oh, his skin was smooth, muscles cut, barely a shadow of stubble on his chin; he had every outward appearance of youth, but something about his eyes, the way he looked at Nate—it stuck with him.

It didn't go away. It was there as he settled into sleep, there when his alarm rudely awoke him, even there when he jerked off in the shower, no matter how hard Nate tried to blank it out, think of anything else. No, his mind always returned to Brad's eyes, filled in the scene: Brad looking at him like that, while Nate thrust into his fist, water sliding down his body. Nate gasped at the jolt that sent through him, steam thick in his lungs. He firmed his grip, imagined Brad doing this, stroking him rough and tight, watching, always watching—

Coming was a rush—freefall when he hadn't expected it. It left him lightheaded and weak, panting against the tile and wondering what the fuck. 

_What the fuck?_

Nate pulled himself together more slowly than usual, the thought of Brad's eyes still tingling in his nerve endings, the wash of pleasure making his head heavy.

He should get rid of the picture. That much was clear.

Nate went to his room and grabbed it, moved to drop it in the trash...but then he did that thing, that thing where he looked at it. And he just couldn't. 

Fuck.

Instead he stuffed it in a drawer and pushed it out of his mind. Really, no need to dwell on things that didn't even matter.

He kept the negative. 

It still didn't matter. Not at all.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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